


intertwined

by jdmsrovia



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Charlie Has Had Enough, F/M, Gift Giving, Kissing in the Rain, Love Confessions, Oblivious Dee, basically a hallmark rom com, charlie has loved dee since high school and that's that on that, charlie kelly is bad at feelings, inspired by 'intertwined' by dodie hence the title, mac and dennis aren't actually together, seriously no one saw this coming, this is a chardee only event
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22981594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmsrovia/pseuds/jdmsrovia
Summary: Charlie swallowed. He watched as small rivers of rainwater gushed past their feet and pooled around whatever object they hit first. He wondered how long it’d take for the roof to flood completely, whether they’d still be sitting there by then. He wondered if he’d still be here if the whole city was submerged and they were the sole survivors; if he’d still be planted firmly by her side, quietly watching the way she blinked away rogue droplets of water from her mascara stained eyes, the water slowly swallowing their bodies and licking at their throats.He would, he thinks. Where else would he be?(or, charlie's sick of keeping secrets, and plans the biggest confession of his life)
Relationships: Charlie Kelly & Dee Reynolds, Charlie Kelly/Dee Reynolds, Mac McDonald & Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 22
Kudos: 54





	intertwined

**Author's Note:**

> [EDIT 09/09/2020: i just want to say that upon reflection, i think i approached charlie's attitude towards the events of times up in this fic extremely insensitively. after that episode i figured dee molesting charlie was just a throwaway joke but given their interactions in the most recent season i don't feel comfy thinking about them romantically nor do i ship them anymore. feel free to enjoy this fic if you do, and im proud of my writing, but i just wanted to be clear on how my feelings have changed. big love] 
> 
> i started writing this before i really associated it with the song 'intertwined' by dodie, but once i had, it sort of became the anthem. hence... whatever this is. just look at the whole lyrics yall. enjoy!
> 
> _"oh you  
>  and i  
> safe from the world  
> though the world will try_
> 
> _oh, i'm afraid of the things in my brain  
>  but we can stay here  
> and laugh away the fear_
> 
> _numb, fine  
>  you create a rarity of my genuine smiles_
> 
> _so breathe  
>  breathe with me  
> can you drink all my thoughts  
> cause I can't stand them"_

Charlie has always been good at keeping secrets.

Despite his loud mouth and lack of filter and the way in which words tend to tumble out of his mouth before he even has the chance to think about them, keeping secrets has always been a skill which he holds dear. Sure, pointless shit like little white lies Dennis asks him to keep, or stupid shit that Mac has done which he knows everyone’s gonna find out about anyway, they don’t matter so much. But the serious things, the _real_ shit, he’d never spill to anyone.

He’s kept plenty of secrets in his life. He never told anyone about the boners Mac would get when they play wrestled as teens or watched the football team because they both knew the reason wasn’t just nothing, and if Mac was happier when he pretended he didn’t notice, then it was a small sacrifice to make.

He never told his mom about the sloppily written letter he found from his dad when he was nine, the letter which half-heartedly apologised and cruelly blamed him and Bonnie for his absence, because he knew she had hidden it for a reason, and that it’d hurt her so much to think he ever blamed himself, even though he did.

Despite everything, even after all their arguments and all his manipulation, Charlie always kept secrets for Dennis. Charlie knew a lot of secrets about Dennis, like when they were in high school how his mom would slap him around for stealing her makeup and he’d come in the next day bare-faced and blotchy, or how he cries sometimes in the backroom when he thinks everyone’s too drunk off their asses to notice.

All of them think he doesn’t notice things, that he’s too dumb or high to pick up on the small things they all do when they think no one will ever find out. But he does.

He notices Dee all the time.

He thinks, if he really tries hard enough to remember through the haze, that he’s always noticed Dee. Even back in the days when they’d all sit behind the bleachers and skip class to smoke Mac’s terribly rolled joints, he remembers noticing she could never sit right on the hard grass because of her back brace, so he’d always take off the several layers of jackets his mom made him wear and let her sit on them instead. He wonders if she remembers that.

He’s always noticed the small, even annoying things she does. Like when Dennis makes a joke and she hangs off every word, _still_ , even at forty years old desperate to know what she could do to be like him.

He sees the way she comes in the bar sometimes looking like shit, exhausted and stiff and he knows she’s spent another night with someone not worth the effort.

He sees that she has secrets too, but less of them than the rest of the gang. She doesn’t give a shit who knows about her problems or who knows her most intimate business, and while she tries to play it off as casual and unfeeling, Charlie knows she’s only doing it to feel less lonely. To feel like everyone knows everything about her so that she doesn’t have to face that no one really knows her at all.

Charlie wants to know her. He thinks he has for a very long time.

And that’s his secret, his big, monumental, soul-destroying secret. The one he never dared tell anyone and never considered letting out into the daylight, because loving Dee Reynolds had always been easier from afar when you’ve convinced yourself that’s as close as you’ll ever get.

He’d started writing things down about her, worried that the days he was losing to the alcohol and drugs would soon turn into weeks, which would turn into years and eventually the fog would just take over completely. He liked the fog, he liked living suspended in it, floating like he wasn’t real and that time wasn’t actually moving as fast as he feared it was. But there were some memories and some secrets he’d cling to with an iron grip before he lets them dissolve into the mist like everything else.

Mac had helped him learn a few words and how to move the pen right to form them properly, but he still hadn’t gotten the hang of it. He prefered drawing pictures - it felt more like _his_ memory rather than someone else’s long words and difficult letters.

He’d draw her hair when she’d come into the bar with a different style, knowing that he’d never get to see it again once the others make fun of her for it. He’d draw her clothes, the ones he loved seeing her in like the rainbow sweater he loved the colours of or the black lace-up top she only wore once before Dennis made fun of her chest, but Charlie would think about more than he knew he should.

He knew it was childish and creepy and that if anyone ever found his journal, full of poor renderings of her face where he just couldn’t get the lips right or crudely drawn scrawls of her bracelets which Charlie liked the sound of when she gestured widely and they’d clang together. He knew that if any of them found out, he’d never be free from it. They’d never let it go, constantly tearing him down and making it out as if being in love with Dee is something utterly ludicrous when in reality it’s Charlie’s favourite thing in the world.

If Dee knew… oh, if Dee knew. He sometimes considered just telling her - shoving the journal in her hands and saying _“Here, here it is, here’s everything I have and everything I am”_ or simply walking right up to her and kissing her, just like he’d done before.

He’d been brave then, spurred on by some unspoken liberation from the rest of the gang, both of them buzzing with newfound freedom and opportunity, and it had been like their eyes had been opened and they were seeing clearly for the first time in their lives. It was like all the feelings, all the looks and the yearning had all been building inside him for so long that his brain had reached its capacity, and everything was so loud and frantic and fucking endless until he looked at her and everything just… stopped. She’d said they made a good team, and she’d smiled. And everything went quiet, quieter than Charlie’s head had been in his entire life and suddenly kissing her had felt so natural, so right. And she had kissed back, and everything fell into place like a faraway memory which had been floating on the tip of his tongue for years, teetering on the edge until suddenly the answer came rushing in an instant, and the whole universe just… clicked.

It’d worked once, when it had felt like they were the only two people in the world and not another soul mattered. But that was a long time ago.

The gang knew about that night, they knew what he had told them and the lies he blurted at the times up conference to hide any chance of his rapid breathing or thundering heart giving away how much that night actually meant to him, how that night was permanently projected onto the back of his eyelids any time he closed his eyes and how phantom touches crawled along his skin every time he opened them again in the morning.

It seemed to make sense at the time, to hide his big secret with a smaller, untrue secret.

Charlie thinks he’s sick of secrets now. He’s tired of it. He realises, finally, that he doesn’t think he wants to keep secrets anymore.

He’d been avoiding her the last few weeks, and they both knew it, even if neither of them knew why. Charlie couldn’t even tell himself why he was doing it, just that he knew it was becoming unbearable to be around her when the feeling in his chest would become so extreme it would _hurt_. Being around her now, now that they’re 40 and Dennis has a kid and Mac is out the closet and Frank is moving slower and everything is changing and moving too fucking fast, being around her is painful. Watching the loneliness of middle age slowly consume them all despite their best efforts to hide it was quickly becoming an elaborate show, an act they all kept up day after day to push away the reality of the grey hairs they can’t ignore or the tired eyes which can’t stay open as long as they used to.

He couldn’t stand watching her life move as fast as it was, not what when he wasn’t in it, not really. Every day was a reminder that she was alone, because he was alone, and they were both constantly running from that truth.

Charlie was tending bar alone, Dennis and Mac having run off on some hair-brained scheme he couldn’t keep up with, and Frank deciding to take his business calls in the back room away from prying eyes and ears. More secrets he didn’t have the energy for.

He hadn’t even been paying attention when she walked in, too busy scrawling a picture of a dinosaur on a napkin on the bar as Jurassic Park played quietly on the TV.

“Hey! Charlie! I need your help.”

He froze in an instant, his heart stuttering in his chest. He didn’t look up, intent on keeping up the charade as long as possible. Hopefully, she’ll think he’s just being a dick like he usually is and walk away. Because that’s what they did. That’s how they worked now.

“Hello? Charlie? You’re the only one here dickwad you know I’m talking to you.”

He heard her stomp over to the bar, her bag clattering next to him and a stool squeaking as he took a seat.

“I need you to come with me to the nail salon. I’m getting these babies prepped for a hot date tonight but while I’m there I’m gonna need you to steal me some shit from the storage cupboard where I _know_ those bitches have a shitload of high-end products, you know the real fancy shit they use on housewives? Anyway, Artemis has connections, I’m doing a thing, you don’t need to know the details. But we need to go like, now.”

He still hadn’t looked up from his drawing despite the movement of his crayon having ceased what feels like a lifetime ago. He can see her hands in the corner of his eyes resting on the edge of the bar, and he notices the pink nail varnish already adorning her nails. They’re chipped to hell, some of the nails completely bare while some have been scratched and bitten to no end. He didn’t want her to change them. He thought they looked cool.

“Nah… can’t. Got the bar.” He muttered, picking at his crayon and trying desperately to concentrate on the gross feeling of the wax under his nails as opposed to his heart thrashing in his chest.

“Where are the others?”

He shrugged half-heartedly, barely a movement. He heard her sigh, and something deep in him ached a little.

“What are you doing?” She asked seriously.

Her tone surprised him a little, and he furrowed his brows.

“...With the crayon?”

“No, dipshit. I mean… What is this? Why have you been acting like this?”

She suddenly grabbed his crayons and paper and swiped them away, ignoring his screech of indignation. It forced him to look at her, and suddenly he felt as if his breath had been knocked out of his lungs.

She wasn’t just looking at him, _she was looking at him_. She looked… desperate, and angry, and upset, and all the things Charlie had grown used to associating with Dee but he’d never seen them all together, not like this. Never like this.

“Why are you ignoring me? Why do you keep acting weird?”

His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, all of his brainpower suddenly leaking out of his ears.

“I-I’m n-”

“Yes! Yes, you are, Charlie! I know you are! I thought we agreed after that day we spent together without Mac and Dennis when it was just us and we had that- that night…” She trailed off for a moment, and Charlie’s fists were clenched so tight beneath the bar that he could feel his nails cutting into his palm painfully, digging in enough to draw blood. “I thought we knew we didn’t have to act like this in front of them, that when it’s just us, we can-”

“We can what, Dee? How should we act when it’s just us?” He interrupted harshly, his usually high voice laced with anger.

It was supposed to be unspoken. _Unspoken_. Not to be addressed again. Not to be reminded of over and over outside of his own hyperactive mind.

_Stop talking. Please stop talking._

She sighed again and shook her head, scoffing quietly.

“It doesn’t matter.” She grabbed her bag and stood up abruptly. She moved to say something more, hesitating just before the words could come out.

Charlie’s mind was screaming at him.

_I don’t know what I want you to say or if I want you to leave but you need to do something because my chest hurts and my head hurts and I hate this so much._

__

__

She clamped her mouth shut and turned her back on him. She was gone in a second.

The bar was silent now, silent except for the movie still playing in the corner of the room. Charlie grabbed the remote and turned it off, hurling it across the room and hearing it crack against the wooden floor.

Her nails flashed in his mind again. They were pretty - chipped and pink and sharp. His were short, covered in green wax and drying blood.

She’s too good for him. Every part of her is too good for him.

-

He went to sleep that night thinking of Dee’s jeans.

He was thinking of a specific pair she had in high school that were dark and expensive and flared dramatically at the knee. He loved the way the material moved when she walked, the swishing sound they’d make when she’d stride theatrically around the halls like she was a supermodel despite her back brace clicking along loudly as she did so. He’d pick at the frayed edges at her ankles when they were high and personal space didn’t exist - when she’d prop up her feet comfortably on his lap and he’d be entranced, staring enamoured at her bare ankle and running his nails along the strange material of her red suede shoes that probably cost more than his entire wardrobe.

They were tight fitted jeans at her waist, and to the annoyance of her mother, she had embroidered three sunflowers on the hip, sewn carefully but amateurly in a small, imperfect formation.

Of all the wants and desires Charlie has ever had in his life, big or small, childish or devastating, the one thing he’s wanted to do more than anything, more than live life itself, was to trace those flowers on her hip. He’d endlessly dream about outlining the delicate shapes with his fingertips, charting each petal and seed that rose and fell with the jutting of her sharp hip bone.

For the first time in a long time, that night he drifted off to dreams of sunflower fields and the warmth of the sun.

-

It was Dee’s birthday soon.

He’d decided to tell her.

He didn’t know what to get her as a gift, so decided to just buy all of it. Everything he knew she liked. Everything he knew she liked but was afraid to ask for. He didn’t have much money, not since he gave his shares away to Mac and Dennis and was shafted on his payslip because the others thought he couldn’t read the numbers, but he still had some cash saved. He hadn’t even known what he’d been saving for until now.

Over the years he’d squirrelled away the odd ten or twenty bucks he found lying around or stole from the tip jar into an old sock under his bed, tucked far enough back that Frank couldn’t reach, even if he had ever found it. He could have just asked Frank for money and Charlie knew he would have obliged no questions asked, but it seemed wrong. It felt right that it was Charlie’s thing, _his_ gift, _his_ money, _his_ confession.

As it turns out, the money didn’t stretch as far as he’d hoped, but it was still something. He had a box ready, just a cardboard thing with ‘Dee’ scrawled on the side in sharpie because he hadn’t thought about the presentation until he’d ran out of funds. He told himself that it didn’t matter, that the results of the day, whichever way they went, would mean that none of this would actually matter.

He’d gotten everything ready, the gifts, the box, his internal script. He planned out everything.

He knew what people meant when they said it’s better to rip off the bandaid, he thought as he left his apartment, pushing away the thoughts of how different his life would be when he next returned. It was supposed to be sudden, to embrace the pain in its entirety and quickly rather than dragging it out and prolonging your inevitable suffering. He understood it.

By the time he’d gotten to Paddy’s, he realised how true it really was. At least for him, anyway. He’d spent his whole life tugging at the bandaid, tearing it off in bits and starts only to crush it back down when he thought there was a chance of him getting exposed. He realised, as he looked down at his box of gifts, that you’ll be left exposed either way. You’ll still be bleeding either way. As soon as you realise that, tearing it off doesn’t seem so scary.

“Hey, where’s Dee?”

He burst through the door abruptly and noticed Mac and Dennis jump apart from where they’d been standing suspiciously close behind the bar. Always more secrets, he thought.

The bar had blue bunting strung across it and confetti and balloons were littered everywhere. It should have been sweet, really, knowing it was obviously the handiwork of Mac, but it just gave Charlie a headache. He’d have to clean that up later.

“Who gives a shit?” Mac answered, juggling a dirty glass in an attempt to busy his hands. Charlie pretended not to notice the dying panic in his voice, as he always does.

“C'mon man, has she come in yet or has she already left?”

“I don’t know man, why? What’s that?” Dennis gestured to the box and Charlie felt anger creep up his throat. His grip on it tightened as if somewhere in his head he wasn’t just protecting the gifts, but also the person it was meant for.

“It’s her birthday too, man. Unless you forgot you’re related.”

Dennis rolled his eyes dramatically. “I wish. No, she hasn’t come in yet. And since when do you buy anyone gifts? Where’s mine?”

He said it half-jokingly, but Charlie wasn’t in the headspace for this today. He wasn’t in the mood to put up with Dennis’s sarcastic smirks or cryptic conversations that left his head spinning or his blood boiling. Especially not today.

He left without another word, ignoring the incredulous looks thrown his way from Mac and Dennis, bound for Dee’s apartment. He got a seat on the bus and sat quietly, the box resting comfortably on his lap. He suddenly felt more protective over it, more possessive as he dwelled on Dennis’s words.

He’s right that Charlie never buys gifts. He never does it for anyone but Mac, and even then they usually call a rain check when they’re both too broke after blowing their savings on Christmas and New Year, which recently, has been every year. He never once got anything for Dee. Not because he didn’t want to, or didn’t care, but because once it was established that that wasn’t how they worked, it was set in stone. To deviate from that would warrant an explanation, and explanations are dangerous things when you’re keeping secrets.

He watched a few rain droplets trickle down the window and he squinted up the darkening sky. It was unusual weather for mid-August, but Charlie supposed it felt about right. He wasn’t optimistic about the reward of his impending confession. In fact, he’d pretty much accepted that he’d leave this apartment feeling just as miserable as he had been for years, only at least he would know for sure what he’d spent his life imagining. He’d finally know.

Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d be able to move on and accept his life without Dee at the centre of it. Maybe, if he was unlucky, he’d lose her completely. She’d be gone, or he would be, but either way, the tenuous ties binding their group together would be severed completely. Him speaking out and finally admitting his feelings, in the worst-case scenario, would mean that the fragile, unspoken truths they all have buried deep within them would be brutally thrust into the spotlight and they’d be forced to confront the secrets they keep, forced to cut themselves open and face the consequences of whatever comes flowing out. He could ruin their group. He could ruin his life.

There were hundreds of possible endings to the twisted fairytale he’d spun in his head and he’d found it within himself to accept the outcome of each and every one of them, not because he wanted the onslaught of pain and exhaustion that came with baring your soul at your most vulnerable to someone you’d happily die for, but because it was _worth it_. It was worth all of this if it meant he could see her smile one last time, wholly and genuinely. It was worth it if these were the first gifts she’d received in years and it could prove to her that she’s not alone, that someone wants her to be happy. It was worth it for the mere and simple fact that Deandra Reynolds would finally know that Charlie Kelly has been in love with her for the last thirty years, and will continue to be in love with her until his heart stops beating.

He got off at his stop and made a b-line for Dee’s building, moving as fast as he could given the weight of his present and the wet ground that was getting more slippery by the minute. He reached her complex and jumped into the elevator, and the short journey felt like a distant memory by the time he’d gotten to her door.

His fist stopped just short of the wood as he reached up to knock. He felt like his body was buzzing with electricity and could have sworn he could feel the static clinging to his skin and making his brain go fuzzy. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt like this, of course. It’d happened plenty of times, always because of the same person.

He looked at his hand as it suspended in mid-air, noticing a band-aid stuck to his wrist. He was confused for a moment, not remembering when he’d hurt himself, but the memory quickly came back. He’d done it last night as he’d lay awake staring at the ceiling, Frank’s snores for once not bothering him at all as he imagined he was lying somewhere warm, somewhere nice. He imagined that’s how it must feel to lie in Dee’s arms.

He wanted to find out. He was tired of imagining, of pretending, of fantasising. He just wanted to _know_. To know if the possibility was even a possibility.

Charlie picked at the edge of the band-aid, tearing it off in one quick motion. He had drawn a simple smiley face in the space below his palm, and it was smiling up at him now, urging him onwards. Motivation. A reminder, maybe. Something.

As he knocked on the door, he thought about how taking off that band-aid hadn’t hurt at all.

He stared at the thin door and tried not to picture her behind it as he waited on tenterhooks, the silence beginning to feel unbearable as he tapped his fingers on the side of the box.

He knocked again, dismayed to find himself still standing alone, no sign of sound or movement behind the door giving the slightest hint that she was inside. _Or she’s ignoring you_ , an unhelpful voice in the back of his chimed in. _You ignore her. That’s how you work. Now you know how it feels._

He texted her as paranoia began to wrap around his throat, the air in the musty corridor slowly feeling thinner.

**_where r u ??_ **

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, shaking slightly. At least she was typing, he thought.

**_Home._ **

The hands he’d felt around his throat tightened their grip.

**_at ur daw, no ansr. where u reely??_ **

He watched as the three dots jumped onto his screen and he tried not to picture her face, contorted in frustration at his poor spelling, probably wishing she was talking to someone else, anyone else. The dots disappeared without a response.

**_guys r at bar. its just me._ **

The dots appeared on his screen again and he caught himself holding his breath.

**_On the roof._ **

The stairs up to the roof felt endless, his feet feeling like lead with each step he clambered up. By the time he reached the top his lungs burned and his legs ached deep in his bones but the pounding in his head was too distracting to even feel his body screaming at him. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears as he reached the door, his mind swimming with thousands of thoughts so fast he worried for a second that he might pass out, but the tempting appeal of unconsciousness was shed in favour of bravery, or perhaps stupidity, with a swift shake of his shoulders and a clearing of his throat as he braced himself against the door, pushing himself into the end of the world.

The rain was torrential now and he crumpled his face in dismay as it lashed against his bare arms and stuck his unruly hair to his forehead. It wasn’t hard to spot her. The concept of being outside at all in this weather, nevermind stood as close to the breached heavens as they were now, wasn’t even in the realm of possibility to anyone else in the world that wasn’t the two of them.

She was sat under a makeshift den, or whatever some plastic furniture, a pitifully empty cooler, and a canopy of weathered tarpaulin are best described as. She was staring into the middle distance, slouched in her seat unmoving even as Charlie flopped into the seat beside her, his fingers numb from the freezing grip on his rapidly deteriorating box.

They sat in silence for a few moments, neither wanting to disturb the peace of the steady rainfall and subdued mutterings of the city.

“I didn’t make this just to sit like a loner on my birthday, just so you know.” Dee mused, softening the uncertain atmosphere, much to Charlie’s relief. “Some kids down the hall made it a while back and I get free reign when they’re at school. I’d watch out for needles, though.”

She finished half-jokingly, but Charlie found himself scanning the floor nevertheless.

“It’s pretty sweet, actually. It reminds me of when me and Mac camped out on the roof of Paddy’s when we tricked you all into thinking we were dead.”

She blinked out of her stupor to grimace at him in disbelief. She opened her mouth to berate him and Charlie waited for her usual monologue regarding the events of those few days, waited for the squawk of _‘Of course we knew you weren’t dead you stupid asshole, how dumb do you think I am?’_ , but it died on her lips the second she noticed his growing smirk. To Charlie’s delight, she scoffed, a smile of her own creeping reluctantly onto her face.

“Asshole.” She muttered.

Charlie swallowed. He watched as small rivers of rainwater gushed past their feet and pooled around whatever object they hit first. He wondered how long it’d take for the roof to flood completely, whether they’d still be sitting there by then. He wondered if he’d still be here if the whole city was submerged and they were the sole survivors; if he’d still be planted firmly by her side, quietly watching the way she blinked away rogue droplets of water from her mascara stained eyes, the water slowly swallowing their bodies and licking at their throats.

He would, he thinks. Where else would he be?

“I uh, brought you something.” He awkwardly readjusted himself in his seat, suddenly self-conscious of his posture as well as the enormity of his thoughts, grateful that Dee couldn’t actually read minds the way she whispered she could when he was too high to doubt her. “A gift, you know. For your birthday.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously as she noticed the box for the first time, not usually finding abnormality or significance in the random objects Charlie tends to carry around.

“Charlie, I swear to god, if this is some kind of prank and you’re about to give me a box of anthrax or hornets or some shit then I will not hesitate to throw you off his building and step over your dead body every morning on the way to work.” She said cooly.

He twisted his face in response. “That’s kinda dark.”

“It’s eat or be eaten out there, Charlie.” She shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I thought we agreed we’d be nicer when it’s just us. I don’t really think death threats count.” He smiled to himself, but didn’t miss the sadness that flashed across her face.

“And I thought last time _I_ brought that up, you practically spat it back in my face.” She countered venomously, but the faraway exhaustion in her voice wasn’t lost on either of them.

He looked down ashamedly, resenting the freezing drops of water that leaked from his hair and ran along his nose with the movement.

“Yeah, I did.” He looked up at her. “Sorry about that.” She said nothing, maintaining a worryingly neutral gaze, and he held out the box for her to take. “No anthrax, no hornets, nothing that can kill you or bite you or eat you, I promise.”

She stared at it for a few moments, a few horrible moments where Charlie braced himself for a crushing rejection, before she reached out tentatively, holding the corners delicately as she placed it on her lap.

He cleared his throat as she opened it up, his nerves making his skin crawl as he followed her appraising eyes.

“I, uh, I didn’t know what you’d like, you know, like as one gift. Or at least nothing I could afford, you know. I didn’t think a new range rover or anything was really on the cards.”

He craned his neck to pry as she began examining all the items. They were all odd bits and bobs, nothing particularly pricey or extravagant, but all which had meanings, from old treasured memories to odds and ends she’d only just mentioned in passing.

She held each object so delicately, as if they were made of fine china and not cheap plastic, as if not just the objects themselves but the sheer concept of them was unbearably fragile, and her lack of care could cause this whole moment to shatter around her.

“Those are uh, from that beauty store you like opposite the park. And that’s the - yeah. Sorry, they only do it on CD which is super annoying but I figured if you’re gonna listen to the Thelma and Louise soundtrack it can’t just be on your phone, you know, you gotta go a little old school. And I have a CD player if you don’t, you could always come over and like, borrow it if you want. Oh! Those are kinda payback for Frank ruining the Thunder-Gun opening. I figured we could go to the movies not through a sewer this time though, and together this time, which would be nice, I guess.” He laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck as he talked. He knew he was rambling, he could hear himself distantly as if his mouth was just moving of its own accord, or if they were the words of someone else, and he rapidly willed himself to believe that everything coming out wasn’t his own nerve-ridden hysteria.

He ceased his ramblings quick enough, clamping his mouth shut to stop any more embarrassment and any risk of getting on her nerves the one time he’s trying to do anything except that.

She was dazed as she made her way through the pile, running her fingers gently across every item. She lingered on the numerous old photos and ticket stubs from days she’d forgotten until now and swallowed roughly as she traced the odd patterns of the gaudy hand-painted photo frame he’d lovingly put together. She chuckled wetly at the old mixtape they made in high school which she never imagined he’d still have, smiling dumbly as she read through their ridiculous song list in her old, scratchy handwriting.

With every silent smile or contented sigh Charlie’s heart soared in his chest, and he knew it was far more than just validation from actually getting this right. He knew it was so much more than that, and that even if after this she still spoke those dreaded words he deep-down knew to expect, which would leave him alone again as he stomped back to the life he’d grown to hate, he would still be thankful for this. He’d still wouldn’t have a single regret about any of this as long as even the worst case scenario had involved her smiling as beautifully as she was now.

She stopped awestruck upon finding the small embroidery kit he’d gotten her, complete with yellow, brown and green thread. She looked up to him, eyebrows furrowed in fond confusion at the possibility that it was a reference to what she thought it was. He smiled lovestruck at her, and she giggled in disbelief. She smiled through all of it, through every little touch and every cheap gift shop tat, not saying a word. She didn’t need to.

She got to the last gift, wrapped surprisingly neat for what would be expected of Charlie’s decorating skills, or lack thereof. She slowly tore off the paper and opened the small box, sniffling quietly. She held it up in front of her, wrapping her finger around the cool chain and letting it dangle in front of her. Her hands were trembling slightly, and Charlie couldn’t tell if it was because of the cold, or something else.

At the end of the silver chain was a tiny paper boat, and held up against the misty grey sky and flowing water at their feet with the thundering rain the only sound in the seemingly silent city, it seemed to belong there. Like the necklace was already a part of Dee, and Dee was a part of this strange, isolated rooftop world in this single isolated moment which belonged only to them. It felt like it had always been.

“Missing that boat was the best thing that ever happened to me.” He admitted, dragging up any remaining bravery from deep within him.

She turned to him immediately, her resolve crumbling as her tears mixed with the water already speckled on her face. She looked ethereal.

“Why did you do this?” Her voice cracked pitifully and the words were laced with uncertainty, terrified of whatever was next to leave Charlie’s mouth. She looked so unbelievably vulnerable that for a second he felt white-hot anger flare in his chest at every bad word he and the others had ever said to her.

It all made sense now. It’d made sense for a while, he thought, and he wondered what had possessed him to repress it so far within him and to deny its existence for so many years, when accepting it had felt like a weight had been lifted from his ribs and he could breathe fully for the first time in his entire life.

“Because I love you.” He stated simply. “I’m in love with you, and I have been since the day I met you.”

She stared in bewilderment, completely frozen.

“I know I’ve had a shitty way of showing it. I probably haven’t shown it at all, to be honest. For most of my life I’ve been so deep in denial because I was shit scared of admitting that I needed someone other than myself and that I wanted someone I knew I could never have, so I figured it was better to push it down somewhere I couldn’t see it, somewhere I wouldn’t ever have to go near, even if it made me fucking miserable. And I know doing that didn’t just hurt me, it hurt you... the way I acted, and the shit I said, and all the times I’ve took the guys’ side instead of yours because it was easier than defending you.”

Dee looked stricken, completely taken aback by the confession. Her eyes were blown wide and Charlie wasn’t even sure if she was still breathing, but he soldiered on, knowing that if he stopped for even a second all the cowardice that had held him back from this exact point in his life all this time would come rushing back in an instant, and he couldn’t let that happen.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me for that right away. I don’t really expect you to forgive me at all, if I’m honest, and if this doesn’t change shit and you want nothing to do with me, I get it. I’m kind of prepared for that already, actually, because you deserve someone a million times better than me. You should be with someone nice, and handsome, and rich and successful and basically everything that isn’t me, and I hope you know that too.”

A pained sound escaped her throat, like she’d just been winded.

“But fuck, man.” He laughed a little, an empty sound. “If I have to spend another day without telling you that you’re the most important person in the world to me and that I’d do anything to make you happy, then I’d rather be dead. Because if you didn’t know, and I didn’t have the chance to tell you, then I might as well be.” He looked down at his feet again, emotions charging their way up his throat and threatening to spill over in the hot tears burning behind his eyes. “I’m nothing anyway, but if I’d never had you in my life? I don’t think I’d even exist.” He whispered quietly, as if the last part wasn’t even for her.

He knew it didn’t make much sense and it wasn’t anything fancy, not like the speeches in the movies and the nonsense Shakespeare writes, but it was him. It was all of him, and that was all he had to offer.

He sighed once and moved to get up, the heaviness in his legs returning. He came here to tell her, and that’s what he’d done. He stood up and braced himself as he left the safety of the tarpaulin and stepped into the rain, ready to leave her be. Ready to leave her for a life better than the one he was offering.

Only, he was suddenly stopped in his tracks as a hand gripped painfully at his wrist. He turned in an instant to look at her in confusion, his heart thundering in his ribcage. She stared at him wordlessly, and they both waited for a speech that never came as she glanced down at his lips, back up to his eyes, and lunged forward.

Her body slammed against his and suddenly his head was swimming and his whole body seemed to move on auto-pilot to be as close as her as possible, to keep her with him and take advantage of every glorious millisecond that flew by. The grip on his arm never faltered and her other hand slipped onto his neck, holding onto him as if he was the only thing grounding her to earth. He snaked an arm around her waist to pull her flush to his chest and another to her cheek and in an instant, they were clung to each other desperately, their lips moving in tandem like they were following on an instinct, an innate rhythm and script as natural as the rain pouring around them.

It should have been more romantic really, like the romcoms he’d watched all week in preparation for this day. In reality, they were both completely numb with the biting wind and uncomfortably sticky with their wet clothes clinging unflatteringly to their bodies and their teeth chattering comically. He couldn’t feel his feet anymore and her nose felt like ice against his cheek, but none of that mattered in the slightest. Neither of them even noticed.

Dee’s mouth was hot and the pressure of her fingertips digging painfully in his neck was enough to remind him of the warm blood thrumming through his body, and his pulse pounding under her palm was enough to remind them both that they were _alive_.

Her tongue tasted like warm days stretched across the bleachers and the beating sun boring down on their tangled limbs. The pressure of her hips digging into his own felt like sunflowers and youth and all the years they wasted not curled around each other, fitting as perfectly as they did now. Holding her like this, with her hair tangled between his numb fingers and her toes touching his, it felt like hope, and belonging, and like she was the only bright colour in a city full of grey.

He would draw this later, he thought. He’d sketch this moment and keep it safe somewhere, somewhere where the rest of the world can’t find it. Not a secret, exactly. A reminder. A silent agreement between him and his heart of the one thing the fog can never take.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are very, very much appreciated!!!! lmk if u want this to b a series or smthn idk
> 
> also bc im a sappy piece of shit here's a list of everything in dee’s gift box:
> 
> \- embroidery set w/ thread to recreate her sunflowers (he also could have just gotten her real flowers but the thought never occurs to him until the first valentines day they spend together, and after that it becomes a tradition)  
> \- thelma & louise soundtrack (bc ur telling me that a movie about two sapphics escaping their lives to hunt down men wouldn’t be miss dee reynold’s favourite movie)  
> \- a knock-off gucci purse (bc lets be honest he aint gonna buy a real one) filled with old ticket stubs, receipts, bus tickets etc from random schemes over the years which charlie kept  
> \- a hand-painted photo frame w/ an old picture of them at the only high school party they were ever invited to (yes the frame is ugly as hell and yes in the photo dee’s eyes are closed and charlie is blurred bc he couldn’t keep still but she adores it anyway)  
> \- nail polishes from her favourite beauty store in every colour of the rainbow bc charlie thought the bright colours would look amazing on her (the jury’s out on whether he bought or stole these, she doesn’t ask)  
> \- an old mixtape that they worked on together in high school when they were competing against mac and dennis about who had the best music taste labelled ‘chardee’s suck-my-dick-and-swallow-your-pride-mixtape-of-the-century’ full of classic 80s and 90s anthems and an embarrassing amount of backstreet boys  
> \- tickets to a local community centre’s production of macbeth which charlie knows he won’t understand a word of but got because he knows lady macbeth is one of her dream roles and he promises to spend the whole time with her bitching about the lead actress and how dee could do so much better  
> \- a notebook and pen for her to write down her comedy material  
> \- assorted bottles of miniature spirit bottles u get in hotel room mini-bars bc obviously  
> \- cinema tickets to 'one of those weird superhero movies you like just because chris hemsworth is in them'  
> \- a fake super bowl trophy that he etched her name in, aka the true hero behind the eagles win that glorious year  
> \- a desk calendar with almost every ordinary and ridiculous holiday (birthdays, valentines day, st patricks day, national bird day, national cheese-lovers day etc) all circled in red so he never forgets to buy her a gift again  
> \- this paper boat necklace ([which u can buy on etsy!!](https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/572620069/cute-origami-boat-silver-necklace?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=paper+boat+necklace&ref=sr_gallery-1-8&organic_search_click=1&pro=1)), so that day can always be by her heart (aww)


End file.
